#mrmystery
I just get frustrated easier now.
Now that I'm enrolled in constant therapy for three weeks coming.
Now that I've been suicidal for a month.
Now that I'm at this point in my life.
Ugh. Don't listen to me.
Keep your sanity intact.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
Leave me in my own abyss.
I've been thrown plenty of ropes, trust me.
But it's hard not to use them
to create my own noose, you know?
Leave me be, then.
Whatever.
Not like anything will change.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
Numbness seeps through my being like a chemical, tainting all it touches.
Do you deny me the wish I have to feel something, to feel alive, no matter the feeling?
Anger me.
Frustrate me.
Make me sad.
I could care less.
I just want to feel something
and your words
regardless of their sentiment
may be exactly the cure
I am looking for.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
Meet my words with your own, make me feel something again.
Is it blunt of me to wish
you'd write me a
palace?
Once more, just once.
Write to me, and help me feel.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 10:10 AM UTC
I don't want to learn.
I don't want to get over making mistakes
because without making them
I never would have experienced
what it was like
to feel like
that
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
I'm picky. I like who I like, and that region does NOT include everyone, far from it.
Maybe my selectiveness is my downfall, it leaves me alone more often than not.
But do you deny me my wish
to be wanted
to be loved
to belong
I had never fallen that hard
And no, I've never classified my feelings as love
and the same applies there
but I can't help but wonder
what I did wrong
It keeps me up until the words aren't words anymore
but rather spikes behind my eyes
waiting to impale me
as soon as I know she's moved on.
I know it won't be hard for her, and that's not a jab at her amazing self.
I'm just too willing. And easy to forget.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 11:30 AM UTC
It was all my writing
my quotes, my scratches
they scared her, made her leave
WHO are you to tell me
everything will be alright
when I know for a fact it won't
if I wasn't so impulsive, so sentimental
if I didn't bleed my emotions
if I wasn't me
maybe
she would
have stayed
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
We were better off together.
The late night conversations, the happiness, the snuggling into the covers ad sighing at sweet messages from a dimly lit screen
We were better off paired, like jeans--who wants only one leg?
The intake of breath when our eyes met, the constant need to be touching in some way, the flurry of butterflies we gave to each other
We were better off squared, where we could always protect each other
And now I'm left to wonder--do you feel as raw as I do?
Rawer and more exposed than I've ever felt, yet little to do to remedy it....I want that second layer wrapped around me.
But when I reach for it....it's never there.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 8:33 AM UTC
It wasn't your fault, so don't act like it was.
It isn't your problem, so don't act like it is.
And I'm not yours anymore...but don't automatically assume I hate you.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
I know you're here.
But have you faded far enough
that your ears and eyes can't
hear me?
Hi.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
How can I tell someone how to feel
When sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten
How to feel anything myself?
Enlighten me.
The learning is with the entwining of fingertips
Of two pairs of hands that desperately need
To learn a lesson about who they are and
What it is they have to contribute to the world.
That, I believe, is the one and only magic
Remedy that even then can still fail...
It just makes you wonder
If the hands you wish to be holding
Are really even there.
Take mine for example-
Maybe I'm not as outward about my
Condition as I should be, but
How do you know that I'm not
Fading faster than you are?
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 11:34 AM UTC
The question is, what flame are you referring to...?
I wouldn't know, would I?
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
Old ways, schmold ways....
You forget yourself, darling.
I know not of your ways, do you remember those five days? And then silence?
I don't know well enough to know old as I should when it applies to you.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 12:32 PM UTC
It's about her, isn't it?
The new one.
I don't know the specifics, no would I ever want to.....
I hope her lips tasted
sweeter than
my words
ever
did
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 12:22 PM UTC
I don't like being left in the dark
I'll always care, but I need to know
You don't know about the recent spirals, the pain, the inner torture
It'd do me grace to find someone still cared.
But...I'm not a guilt tripper either.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
I don't drop things.
Not friends, names, or pasts.
Most importantly, memories.
Answer me.
Was it about me?
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
I often do that a lot.
Find words that mean what I wish she'd say.
But the real question lies thus;
who was that meant for?
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 11:34 AM UTC
I can no more weave words
than an arthritic spider.
All I do is open my fingertips
and let loose the emotions too powerful
to let out of my mouth
in hopes that they aren't sullied by the printed letter.
How is this silver?
I do wish someone would tell me
what effect,
to what extent,
my words
can inspire
love
and oh, if only that love
were in the eyes
of the muse
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC
I had you convinced.
And if you don't admit it,
You're kidding yourself.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
Change yourself,
do what you like.
You'll always just be
the same old Mike.
Be what you will
your actions are past
no one can judge you
memories won't last
I know you think
they're too strong to forget
but I know you enough
to know you regret
Regret is a tool
used to make better a man
so don't tempt forgetfulness
You are you. So stand.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
Nor does anyone, at this point, know who he or she is.
We all compare ourselves to an ideal image of ourselves
kept captive against our irises
by our eyelids
This is why
I'm stuck
in a broiling ocean
of self-discovery
No different from the experiences of others, all flailing and trying to stay afloat around me,
but just as tragic.
We do not pity one another.
We fight harder to earn the freedom that will allow us
to help others out of the water
when we in turn are strong enough
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
I'll hold back my longing to quote Shakespeare's sagacity here
and instead apologize,
though I know not what for.
The world is indeed cold and unforgiving.
It is how we forge our way through hoping for the best
that makes us
who we are.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 3:32 PM UTC
Perhaps I dull with age
and with sourness
and with lost hope.
But I don't believe
You've changed
a bit.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
No one really understands how strong they are until they feel pain.
Pain brought on by others, sure.
But pain brought on by oneself.
Ink by ink and bone by bone,
We write our own rifles
To shoot our penned images down with.
Don't feel as if you are alone.
How many views do you have?
How many witnesses are there
To your black stained suffering
That could turn to red any moment?
Who knows.
I know.
I know the silence a written page can scream
Louder than any thoughts and any people.
Just know that no matter the lack of comments
No matter the absence of physicality to hear you
Your pain
Is being read.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC